We're All Doomed
by OhMyMorganFreeman
Summary: This is the story of Albus Potter, told from a slightly different perspective to JK Rowling's. Now toning down on the silliness, slightly. Rated T for obscure references in the first Chapter. Please R&R.
1. The Sorting

Wow, a HP fanfic, I didn't think that would happen. Ever.

**Note Replacing The Other Note:** Since I've received only one review, I'll assume almost no one likes this story. If so, can someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong? That'd be nice, because improving my writing is the main reason I'm doing this.

Harry Potter and all associated characters are copyrighted by JK Rowling. The only one I made is Sarah Brighton, unfortunately.

* * *

A student's first impression of the Great Hall is said to mould their entire future at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sight of the night sky seen through the Great Ceiling sends many into an awed silence, and the glow of a thousand candles floating above the tables have a likewise effect. The tall, imposing silhouettes of the teachers earn them a little slice of respect and an extra large helping of teeth rattling fear. The sound of chatting teenagers welcomes the new students into their life for the next seven years and encourages them to make friends quickly.

That is, it welcomes them into their life in a haunted, rickety old castle that likes to torment students out of spite and encourages them to make friends quickly for their own safety.

Except, that last bit wasn't true. Not the castle, which took a particular interest in creating new and interesting booby traps every week just to see how far it could damage someone without actually killing them, but the sound of chattering students. It was strangely absent. In it's place was a strange, breathy silence that consisted of a lot of people trying to be quiet at once and failing. Someone in the back coughed.

It was slightly unnerving, the way the silence had spread outwards from the doors as soon as they opened. It had been like a strange domino effect, knocking over each and every student on its way to the head table (though, not _actually_ like a domino effect, because that would cause quite a lot of confusion and the weight of some of the Hufflepuffs would probably send their victims to the Hospital Wing). By the time the first years made it into the room it had spread all the way to the end of the Great Hall, which only served to make the small children even more confused and nervous than they already were.

And _every single person_ in the hall was staring at them. Someone was probably going to end up wetting themselves.

The cause of the sudden hush was a small, black haired little boy shuffling his feet in the middle of the first years. His bright green eyes were turned to floor, as if he didn't want to return the stares being directed at him. The son of the famous Harry Potter, who had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort at the age of seventeen, Albus Severus Potter was fully aware of the reflected glory he was receiving, and was not very happy about it. Nevertheless, his small face wore a smile that melted nearly all of the hearts around him. It put them in mind of kittens and teddy bears and other things cute and pure. It was such an innocent smile that most people assumed he was thinking of fluffy little puppies or rescuing baby birds.

This is because most people are extremely stupid. Many a child has gotten away with setting fire to something with a pair of cute, puppy dog eyes and a "But I didn't _mean_ to, Mummy." Only the most experienced of mothers know the danger signals and make the appropriate response, which is "Oh no you don't, you little bugger! Get back here!"

Albus was, in fact, also thinking of setting fire to something.

Namely, the Sorting Hat.

It seemed like a stupid idea to him, to split all the students up into four groups. All it did was encourage prejudice and petty rivalries. Besides, the idea of the Sorting Hat in of itself was rather disturbing. It could see into your head and watch every single cheek burning moment of embarrassment you ever went through. It could look into the dark recesses of your mind and identify your deepest, most well kept secrets. It could-

A low sniggering sound interrupted his thoughts. It was deep and sinister, and spoke of dark corners and foul deeds. It was the kind of snigger used by demons when tormenting lost souls with hot pitchforks and Blonde Bimbo albums. It was the laugh most connected with communists, or extremists, or whoever else the Americans had decided was evil. Suffice to say, it wasn't very nice.

There it was again! A soft snigger almost beyond hearing. It was coming from the blonde boy, Scorpius Malfoy, who was currently wearing the Sorting Hat.

The disgusting old hat was _laughing_.

If he concentrated, he could hear it whispering to the Malfoy boy. "…Well, you do have a nancy boy for a father, don't you? Now, what House shall I put you in? I'll just have a look see at your memories."

A pause.

"Gosh! Is that you wearing a tutu? Wasn't it embarrassing? It sure is fun to watch, I can tell you that."

Another pause.

"Well, well. Started _that _a little young haven't we? Just make sure you don't end up going blind."

Malfoy' face got redder and redder as the Sorting Hat combed through his memories, but thankfully there was only a few more comments dissecting his private life before he was sorted into Slytherin. By the time he got off of the stool the colour of his head reminded Albus of an over ripe tomato. He was even tinged with green, like the little mouldy bits you get when you leave it in the fridge for too long. It almost looked as if her were about to-

Oh.

The entire school watched as Scorpius Malfoy made his way over to Professor McGonagall, who was gesturing desperately at the large bucket placed next to her. Only Albus heard the sinister giggles of the Sorting Hat over the retches of an eleven year old boy.

His innocent smile grew wider. All it would take was a couple of matches, and if he cleaned up all the ashes afterwards no one would ever need to know...

--

James Potter, on the other hand, was not very interested in the spectacle of Malfoy throwing up his guts in front of the entire school. He was one of those children who rarely focus on anything other than themselves, and when they do pay attention, it's either to shout at someone or ask for money.

The problem he was currently occupied with was the school uniform, which despite his best efforts, he could not get to look the least bit attractive. It consisted of a long, flowing robe, a white undershirt, a striped tie and in winter, God forbid, a matching scarf. He had done his best by untucking the shirt, deliberately loosening his tie and mussing his hair up.

He thought he looked quite handsome. Everyone else thought he looked as if he had been mauled by a small bear.

Just as he was thinking of rolling up the sleeves of his robes for extra effect, his ears picked up on a line of conversation he was actually interested in. Quidditch.

"I really think the Chuddley Cannons have a chance at the cup this year. Didn't you see what they did to Ireland last week? And they used to be the best team in the world!"

James joined in with a comment of his own. "You don't know what you're talking about, Stevens. The Chuddley Cannons have about as much chance of winning the cup as a tissue has of staying dry when put within 50 metres of Moaning Myrtle."

"Oh yeah, Potter? Want to start a fight over it? I could-"

"Oh, would you meat heads please shut up about that stupid game?" interrupted Sarah Brighton, a fifth year girl. "You'd think it was some sort of bloody religion, the way you go on about it."

The boys stared at her for a while, and then glanced at each other. She was insulting Quidditch. The _heretic_.

"Look, Sarah," said James, his voice slightly strangled. He was trying to hold back the urge to call on the British Team to smite her for her blasphemy. "You're good at book smarts and that sort of thing, but you're not an expert on Quidditch so-"

"I have a right to comment on whatever I like, Jock Boy. Especially Quidditch. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't criticise a sport that has a high chance of inducing brain damage by bludger. Oh, and James? Why do you look like you've been hit by a tornado?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your uniform! Oh, never mind. The point is…"

The point was long and boring. Sarah was good at extensive, mind numbing speeches, and everyone knew it. There were several groans as she began a long winded rant about the dangers of playing catch 50 feet up in the air with balls that tried to kill you.

--

If James had been listening, which he wasn't, he would have heard a far more interesting conversation taking place on top of Albus' head, the current residence of the Sorting Hat.

"Look, why do you have to peek inside my brain just to see where to sort me? Couldn't we just have a multiple choice test or something?"

Hats, unlike disgruntled students, did not have the ability to groan. It gave it a good try, though. "The founders were paranoid that one of their students would decide to take themselves and half the school out in a suicide bombing, okay? Apparently it was all the rage back then."

"Your point being?"

"The Sorting is a customs check. Scan this student, they're clean, scan that student, whoops they're just a little bit extremist, better cut their head off. That sort of thing."

"Wow, I never knew the founders were so…"

"Violent? Yes, I know. Now let's have a look at your mind, shall we?"

"Er, you see, the thing is… um, you shouldn't do that… because, um…"

Neither can hats screw their faces up in rage, so the Sorting Hat settled with shouting. "I saw that thought, you little git! You're thinking of setting fire to me, aren't you?! Oh, you'll pay for that."

"Oh, yeah? And how, exactly, as a battered old hat, are you going to enact your revenge?"

"I have the power to sort you wherever I like, thank you very much. Tick me off and I just might put you in Hufflepuff."

"You're allowed to do that?"

"I'm called the _Sorting _Hat for a reason, brat. It's kind of my job." There was a brief interim, in which both parties passed through the barrier of silence into the dark domain of Not Talking to One Another. But, unfortunately, the Sorting Hat couldn't hold itself in for very long. "Wait, I saw that thought too! How dare you use such foul language? I know just where to sort someone like you. Oh yes, you belong in…"

"Oh, crud."

"…SLYTHERIN!"

--

Sarah's rant had finally ended. Now, there was a verbal battle beginning between the Quidditch Fundamentalists, lead by James Potter, and the Secular Atheists (Headed by Sarah Brighton and Rose Weasley). James was just about to make some scathing comments about the heretics' hairstyles when the Sorting Hat shouted out his brother's house.

If he had been drinking anything he would have spat it straight out again, right onto Sarah Brighton and her supporters (and serve them right it would've, too). As it was he made due with dramatically rising to his feet and screaming.

"What?! There must have been some sort of mistake! I demand a recount! Oh no you don't, Albus, put that hat back on!"

"Mr Potter, would you please calm down?" said Professor McGonagall, rising from her seat. "There's no need to shout like that. And what have you done to your uniform? You look like you've been run over by a flock of wild geese."

Albus watched as his brother was eventually restrained by his friends. He viewed the proceedings in interest as they tied his hands behind his back, forced him into his chair and, in the case of Sarah Brighton, knocked him out with a small dinner plate. It all looked very methodical, but then again, they'd probably had a lot of practise.

Eventually he made his way over to the Slytherin table and sat down next to Scorpius Malfoy, who was muttering something about hormones. Albus thought about what would happen when news of his sorting got back home. Suddenly, the future looked extremely bleak.

After a brief silence, he said "You know, I'm probably going to die when my mother finds out about this."

Malfoy nodded. "Me too. If my father hears about the tutu he'll probably kill me himself. And as for the other bit, well…"

"Want to join my 'We're Doomed' club? We've got jackets."

"Really?"

"No."

"Okay then."

And the world became a little bit brighter.

* * *

That's all there is, folks. There may be more eventually, but, as I said before, that depends.

Also, I know I overuse italics slightly. Its just something I do.


	2. A Creature Wrapped In Light

The second chapter came so quickly! Don't let anyone expect it to continue this way, I just had to get this idea onto paper. Or screen, as it were.

Commenting on the story itself, what better use for a second chapter than to introduce the villain? or, at least, a villain.

* * *

Here is the lake, seen from a window in the Great Hall. Move closer, until you are hovering above the surface, then plunge beneath the waves.

The water rushes by you, making roaring noises as it does. Watch the giant squid swim past, looking for its next meal. It is followed closely by a pack of grindylows, who wait for the scraps they know will come. Sink deeper, until it seems as if the water goes on into infinity in every direction. Deeper and deeper…

There.

_The bottom of the lake was quiet. Barely anything moved, and those things that did moved slowly and silently._

_This was partly because sound does not travel very well under water, and partly because all the fast, noisy lifeforms generally got themselves eaten by the larger, and more importantly, quieter kind. The main source of movement in the lake was the seaweed, swaying with the currents. The world under the water was empty and deep.  
_

_Two shapes shot past like bullets, disturbing the seaweed as they went. The one in front had the upper body of a tall, muscular man. He also had the lower body of a long, muscular fish, as if the Creator had decided to invent an underwater human, but had run out of ideas and used a picture book instead. He was being chased by the other shape, and the look on his face suggested that this chase was not in any way a game. It was the look of a small, hunted animal whose destiny it is to end up on someone else's dinner menu. _

_It was impossible to tell the shape of his pursuer, as it was wreathed, not in shadows, but in light and colour. If you looked closely you would see that they formed temporary shapes, constantly moving and changing. They contorted against each other, forming new shapes. New ideas. _

_The thing was catching up. It seemed as though the outcome was inevitable, but the fish man was not stupid enough to slow down. Every muscle in his body strained as he tried to escape, but eventually he fell back in to the writhing mass of shape and light. There was a snapping sound, like that of a neck breaking, and the thing in the colours slowed, then stopped._

_The snapping noise was followed by slow crunching sounds as the creature settled down to eat. It also began to think, which was an interesting experience it hadn't tried many times before. _

_It was thinking about names._

_The thing didn't have one of its own, as no one had ever thought of giving it one. But then again, the fish man had called it by many long and interesting names before he died, some of which it didn't even understand. However, it didn't think 'evil monster' would make a very nice name, as far as names went. It wasn't even very accurate._

_Monster by itself was precise enough. It's appearance, for one, (if only anyone could see it) was not something one would want to look at in a mirror. But evil didn't really fit._

_Evil was a human invention, like carriages, or airplanes. Evil was when you knew the difference between right and wrong, and still chose wrong._

_It wasn't evil._

_It simply lacked morals._

--

"You know, between the Sorting Hat and the castle, I'm starting to think that the founders were kind of evil."

It was the first day of classes. Albus had quickly adjusted to life in Slytherin House, and had likewise quickly made friends with Scorpius, regardless of what their fathers thought of each other. In fact, the only thing causing him trouble was avoiding his brother, who he assumed would throttle him on sight. After spending an eventful night ducking behind three pillars, a gargoyle and a confused Ravenclaw, he had concluded that he would run out of hiding places by next Tuesday.

The classes themselves had so far been boring, but fine. Their morning had started with the most mind numbing Potions class on earth, in which they had been told to sit down, shut up and wait for their teacher, Professor Malcolm, to finish marking non existent essays. Apparently it had been a test of their patience, but Albus suspected it had been a test of how much Malcolm could get away with.

This had been followed by a History of Magic class, in which Albus pointed out helpfully that Professor Binns was, in fact, dead, and didn't he think that a good enough reasons to retire? This had gone completely over the old ghost's head, who had immediately begun to drone on about Wars of Independence and constitutions and other things no one really cared about.

Lunch had been the most eventful, which wasn't saying much. In order to avoid his brother's line of sight Albus had had to hide underneath the table and scrounge for food by touch. The sight of an arm reaching out of nowhere for the lasagna had sent most of his house mates to the other side of the hall.

"What do you mean?" said Scorpius.

"Well, they must have made the things that way, if you think about it. And I don't think either of us is going to forget what the Sorting Hat is like in a hurry."

They both shuddered.

There was a brief pause as they made their way down a passageway. Then across an empty classroom, down a set of stairs and through a crowded hallway. At one point they even went through a trapdoor in the ceiling. Finally, Scorpius said "But what about the castle? I don't really think a castle can be evil."

"Oh just you wait" replied Albus. "My dad told me all about it. It changes where the stairs end up every Thursday and makes doors that are really walls and does all sorts of things. Just you wait one minute and…"

And Amanda Garrons, their luckless classmate, suddenly found herself falling through a hole in the floor that, and this is the important bit, _was not there three seconds ago_.

"See, I told you. Evil."

Scorpius had a look down the hole. "Er, don't you think we should call for help? She might be hurt."

"Don't worry about it." called a voice behind them. Albus turned to see Professor Longbottom, the slightly nervous and slightly wobbly Herbology teacher walking up to them. "This old shack of a castle knows not to push itself too far, or the Headmistress might decide to do some desperate re-renovating."

"She _threatened the castle? _Wow. Why hasn't it decided to bop her off?"

"Don't know, really."

There was another reply to Scorpius' question, just within Albus' range of hearing. He had a horrible feeling that he was the only person who could hear it.

_'Oh, believe me, I tried, but that doesn't mean I succeeded.' _This was followed by a noise that, to Albus, sounded like the trumpeting of a trapped elephant. It was trying to sigh._ 'I never could get that dungeon to look the same again.'_

Albus weighed up his choices. On the one hand, the voice was probably just in his head, which made him crazy. But on the other hand, it sounded as if it was the castle itself given speech. Albus regarded the castle as one of the most sinister, immoral beings in existence. Anyone who could so soundly defeat it was someone worth staying three continents away from.

Also, he was late for Transfiguration.

Albus' mind was quite quick at this sort of thing, and he didn't even stop to pick up his bag as he rushed down the hallway. Scorpius was also a good thinker, and it wasn't long before he was running along after Albus, leaving Professor Longbottom standing by himself.

Eventually he said, "Well, those two are definitely weird." And then made his way back to the greenhouses.

For about three minutes nothing more happened, until a voice came floating up from the hole. It said: "Can someone please help me? Only it's really dark and I can't feel my legs."

Albus could hear the castle giggling from three floors away.

--

The Transfiguration class was completely silent, which seemed to be becoming a trend at Hogwarts. But then again, you would probably have been quiet too if your teacher was Professor McGonagall. That woman is _scary_.

Then came the sound of running feet, which echoed into the classroom. Some of the students looked around to see what was going on.

Next came the voices. One shouted "Come on, we're late! She's going to kill us!"

And the other, which said "Wait, Miss! We're here! We're here! Please don't mark us absent!"

The noises got louder and louder, until the door was thrust open with a loud bang and the two Slytherin boys burst into the room, panting. Unfortunately for them, they were met with the iron hard stare of their teacher. Scorpius jumped.

Albus tried to match the stare, but his eyes soon started to water. Professor McGonagall could out stare a cat. In fact, she probably practised in front of a mirror.

"And, what, exactly," she said, placing an emphasis on 'what' that made the boys wince. "Are you doing being so late for class?"

"Um, we were just…" Scorpius' excuses melted away as he looked at Professor McGonagall's face. "Er, we'll just sit down and be quiet, shall we?"

This seemed to be the correct response. They made their way to their seats as Professor McGonagall began to teach.

"I don't want there to be any messing around in my class, Transfiguration can be dangerous. Let's just say that if you muck things up and get away with only your nose looking like a pumpkin, you're extremely lucky. Anyone who wishes to play around can get out. Now."

This short speech sobered up the class about as much as those large glasses of blended gloop you wouldn't want to touch with a Hazmat Suit on. With frightening her class witless out of the way, Professor McGonagall began talking about her subject.

Albus tried to take notes for a couple of minutes, and then gave up. His concentration had been all used up in his other classes (and then some). He settled with looking out the window, which was far more interesting.

He had a good view. He could see the dark, shadowy trees of the Forbidden Forest, and made a note to explore them as soon as possible. He had within his sight almost all of the school grounds, including the lake, which glittered like a sapphire.

Just for a second, he also saw a flash of light coming from below the water's surface. It soon disappeared again, leaving Albus puzzled. Surely not…

It seemed to him that the light had been made up of many different colours all at once.

* * *

Yes, I also realize that I draw heavily from Terry Pratchett. I have said, and will say again, that I am a Pratchett (And Discworld) fan first and foremost, let all other stories be damned. Or rather, don't, because that would be boring.

A Hazmat Suit is a suit worn to protect from hazardous materials. It's the kind of suit firefighters or people working with radioactive stuff wear. Thank God for Google.


	3. And A Teacher Clothed In White

Here you go. The introduction of my new DADA teacher. And before anyone asks, she is _not_ a Mary Stu. I don't think Mary Stu's are supposed to be creepy in the first place, anyway.

* * *

If you were to ask, common sense would tell you that after a wizard is dead, all of the spells they had cast would push off with them. It would go on to say that the enchantments they had weaved over their possessions would fade, leaving them ripe for the picking. That their devious mind control spells would be lifted, allowing their oppressed slaves to go free. This shows you that common sense sometimes gets things wrong.

If Hogwarts had been built along such lines, for example, the castle would have imploded as soon as Ravenclaw had decided to kick the bucket. The Ministry of Magic, as well, would have long ago been reduced to a pile of rubble. The most powerful of artefacts in the world would be no more than revered, shiny toys.

Therefore, it follows logically (a far more reliable concept that common sense) that the same should apply to curses. Someone who went and, say, hacked the head off of a particularly nasty neighbour would would have to be extremely lucky to find their hexed nose miraculously cured. Similarly, any curses cast by a Dark Lord would not immediately undo themselves as soon as said Dark Lord was defeated by a plucky hero. This is called residual magic.

And it was residual magic, by an amazing coincidence, that continued to force Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to hire a new DADA teacher every year (although, it could be argued that they would have had to do so anyway). The curse had decided to express itself this year by forcing the teacher to resign because of stress, one of its old time favourites that dated all the way back to Professor Umbridge. The reason for this stress, it planned, would be over exposure to eleven year olds.

"So, what's the name of the poor old soul we're going to be torturing, then?" said Albus as the first years set themselves up in the empty Defence classroom. Annoying teachers is part of a child's inbuilt nature, and so the curse didn't have to do very much.

"I think her name is Professor White," said Scorpius as he prepared his spit ball gun for action. In the corner a little girl with a face like a saint tried out her slingshot on a small boy and cackled.

"What? Who would call their child something like that?"

"It's her last name. I don't think you're allowed to choose your own last name."

And then the door opened and their new teacher walked in.

White was definitely appropriate.. The woman who walked into the classroom looked camouflaged for a mission to Antarctica. Her hair was so faded it almost looked bleached, and was done up in a tight ponytail. Her robes were a plain white that put her in contrast to the black uniforms of those around her, and her slow strides revealed glittering white shoes under the hem of her robe.

She was quite old, and had obviously weathered it well, except for one thing…

Her eyes.

They were beyond milky. It was as if the idea of irises had been completely forgotten during her creation. And pupils, for that matter. They were like two large moonstones peering out from her eyelids, as they refracted light in strange and beautiful ways. They were also rather disturbing, as such eyes could not possibly see anything, and yet Professor White looked as if she could see all the way through to the back of your head.

All thoughts of teacher sabotage were instantly abandoned. The little girl with the slingshot stared at it as if she had no idea where it had come from, and Scorpius tried to pretend that his spit ball gun was really his Transfiguration homework gone wrong. Luckily for him no one was paying attention.

The teacher's strides were slow and purposeful towards her desk, as if no force in the world could make her move faster. When she reached it she turned to survey her class, eyes like moonstones raking over her students.

And when she opened her mouth everyone listened, even those students whose attention spans could be measured against that of a small beetle. They even took notes.

No one wanted to see what would happen if they didn't.

--

"So, what do you guys think of the new DADA teacher?" said James.

It was late at night in the Gryffindor common room, the only warm place in the entire castle. The great roaring hearth of the fire kept the common room well lit, and most of the students either reclined in the comfortable armchairs or sat at small tables doing homework. They all knew that none of Hogwarts' other houses had any such luxuries, as the red and gold house had always been the most favoured. Generations of Gryffindors had drawn pleasure from the knowledge that their Slytherin counterparts were probably fighting over a few ragged blankets in their cold, rank dungeon. Maybe they were even starting to grow icicles off the ends of their noses, or something.

It is easy to forget that Gryffindors are not, in fact, sorted for their kind and loving natures.

In the corner of the common room was a small congregation. It was made up of James, Sarah, Alexander Stevens and Rose Weasley. They had so far spent a productive night gossiping about the staff members, and had finally progressed on to the only new one.

"Well," said Sarah, as she looked over her Herbology project. "Do you want to know what I think, or what I _really _think?"

"Huh?" asked Rose, her face scrunching as she wondered how Sarah could have two different opinions about the same person. James and Alex, who had had more experience with the strange ways in which their friend's mind worked, remained silent.

"What I think is that she is a good, competent teacher who'll see us well through our exams." Sarah continued examining her homework for spelling errors. "What I _really _think is that she's creepy."

"I have to agree with you there" said James as he also looked over Sarah's project in order to copy it down later on. "I mean, look at her eyes. Definitely creepy."

"Well, I think she's an alien," said Alex, causing everyone else in the group to stare at him like he had suddenly grown a pair of antennae. Normally, James was the one who came up with inane ideas.

"Well, think about it," he continued as Sarah silently went over the signs of schizophrenia in her head. She was sure insanity had been one of them. "She looks weird, she talks in a strange voice _and _no one knows where she came from."

Noticing that James was nodding in agreement the two girls exchanged an exasperated glance. "Ok," said Sarah in an attempt to steer the conversation back to safer grounds. "Leaving the Professor White Is from Mars Theory aside, I think that she is actually rather- _James, what the hell do you think you're doing?!_"

He was sneakily trying to copy down her project on a separate piece of paper. He also remembered full well that he had been explicitly forbidden to do that on at least fifteen different occasions. He immediately began to panic.

"Er, Sarah, I'll just put it down here and you can calm down, ok?" he said in an attempt to stop the inevitable. But he was too late; it had already begun. She was ranting.

"I gave you _one_ condition, remember, James? Just one! I'll help when you don't understand what's going on, I said, I'll correct the spelling errors in your essays, I said, I'll even let you look over my answers, just as long as you don't copy them down! And what do you do? You go straight and _copy them anyway!_ I should-"

She continued shouting at James as the rest of the common room's occupants gathered round to watch. She even persevered as they began to point and giggle. Threats and insults were flung upon the poor boy as he tried to get a word in and stop the never ending tirade, which only made it worse.

"Would you please stop interrupting me, you little git?! Thank you. Now, back to your extreme laziness…"

And so it continued. On and on and on. And on. And then some.

After about half an hour she gave up on anything she was saying getting through James' thick skull, and exited for the dormitory in a huff.

"Well," said Alex in the aftermath. "We were lucky. I thought she was going to go on for much longer."

"_Longer?_" Said Rose in a stunned voice. "How long can she go on for?"

"About two hours, give or take ten minutes. Then her voice gives out."

"Wow. I don't even think Grandma Weasley can shout for that long."

"Oh, I don't know, that woman is pretty formidable," added James. "I reckon she could give Sarah a run for her money."

There was a lull as they considered the outcome of a shouting duel between Molly Weasley and Sarah Brighton. The winner would probably be decided by whose eardrums exploded last.

"Anyway," said Alex after a while. "Back to my alien theory…"

Rose put her head in her hands and groaned. Suddenly she wished she'd stormed out of the room with Sarah.

--

Sarah, coincidentally, was regretting her decision to move to the dormitory. Now she had to try and sleep with a swarm of angry thoughts still swirling around inside her head. She should have vented them all when she had the chance.

_Stupid James, Stupid homework_, she thought bitterly as she tried to settle down in her bed. _Stupid school_.

There was another thought that came into her mind unbidden. It was squashed immediately by her self confident personality, but the damage was already done.

_Stupid me._

This comment caused even more turbulence within her brain, which was full enough as it was. A good analogy would be to add a Boeing 737 straight into the middle of a crowded freeway. Instant traffic jam, with small side dishes of road rage and confusion.

She just couldn't stop _thinking_.

"That's it," she whispered to herself softly. "If you all don't shut up _right now, _I might just decide to go find some doctors implements and have a go at brain surgery."

This seemed to have the right effect, strangely enough. It was probably some sort of psychology, or something. Sarah had never bothered with the profession, seeing as she didn't want to know anything about other people heads and already knew her own backwards. Perhaps that had been a mistake, now that she thought about it. The insides of other people's brains could be quite intriguing, if you took away all the disgusting, pink, gooey stuff.

Then she remembered that she was supposed to be trying not to think.

She snuggled deeper into the blankets and attempted to remove all thoughts from her head. When this was done to the best of her abilities she had one last go at falling asleep, and, quite amazingly, succeeded. But then again, that wasn't necessarily an improvement

Sometimes memories are like dreams. They develop a detached, non linear quality over time and by then you only ever remember half of them. They can also writhe into new memories, and remembrances of things that never happened. Yes, sometime memories are jst like dreams...

And sometimes, dreams can be like memories.

Sarah turned over in her sleep as she began to dream the worst memory she'd ever had.

* * *

Ooh! some that ever so vaguely resembles a cliffhanger, this must mean I'm becoming evil. Or something.

Another comment: In my opinion, the role of a teacher is either to scare you witless, or make you laugh your head off.


	4. A Memory Of Roses

Wow! this story is progressing like fire! But then again, I've ad most of this chapter written for a while.

**Note:** This is a dream sequence, from a child's POV. All strangeness, capitals where they shouldn't be and running together of words is intentional.

* * *

_The weather in Melbourne is unpredictable at best. There are days that feel perfect, when the sun shines brightly and the smog clears out with the wind. Other days the world is full of fog, or an artic breeze chills the air like a dead man's fingers. Many people complained about the weather but Sarah loved it. She loved the wind, the rain and the sun. She loved the way it was constantly changing, the comfort of it. It was Good and Right and it was hers._

_The day before the funeral was sharp and bright. The light cast long, dark shadows behind everything it touched. Objects stood out starkly from their surroundings, as if to contrast each other._

_The day itself was grey and damp, like an old rag. Storm clouds gathered in the sky, and occasional rolls of thunder could be heard from somewhere over the horizon. Sarah thought this was Right for a funeral. It was the way it Should Be. _

_Everyone wore either black, white or both, but to Sarah they seemed to blur together and become the same, appropriate grey as everything else. The church was grey, the trees were grey, the sky was grey. The only source of colour was the wreath of flowers placed on top of Granny's coffin. A ring made of roses._

_Ring a-ring o' roses__,  
__A pocketful of posies._

_Roses had been Granny's Favourite. Her front garden was well known for being a sea of white and red. She even smelled like roses, a smooth smell, like silk or velvet._

_Soft and sweet._

_Sarah was the only one who had been told why she loved them so much. Granny had confided in her only a few weeks before she had gotten sick._

"_Those things that are good and bad come together, Sarah", she had said, twirling a violently red rose in her hand. "Beauty and pain, happiness and sorrow. And those that try to pretend otherwise aren't worth my time." _

_She had often said things like that; it was one of the reasons why Sarah loved her the Most and the Bestest. Sarah didn't understand half of the clever things her Granny said, and in her opinion this only made them more impressive. She was filled to the brim with wisdom and old sayings, and saw nothing wrong with sharing them with her favourite grandchild, as Granny had assured Sarah she was. This favouritism was an Important Secret to be shared only between them, and Sarah had immediately sworn to protect it with her life._

_And now Granny, who had once told her that the meaning of life was living, lived only in memories and roses. _

_Her father stepped forward, his chin clean shaven, and began to speak. Sarah wasn't listening, she was mesmerised by his baby smooth chin. For as long as she could remember her father had always had a great, bushy beard. When she was very little she had used to play with it. One time it took Mama half an hour to untangle her from the strands of hair._

_In fact, her first name for him had not been Dad, it had been Fuzzy._

_Fuzzy Wuzzy  
Was a bear,  
Fuzzy Wuzzy  
Had no hair,  
Fuzzy Wuzzy  
Wasn't really fuzzy,  
Wuzzy?_

_Her father had shaved his beard. Her father had shaved his beard!_

_It was all happening too fast, too quick. Everything was shifting around her, becoming something it Shouldn't Be. Everything was changing and it __hurt__._

_The pain came hot and fast, coiling around her like a snake, constricting her movement. Its coils wrapped tighter and tighter…_

_She couldn't breathe._

_Sarah fell to the ground crying. The pain went with her, coiled just as tightly. Her tears started to fall just as the rain did. The rain was grey. The trees were grey. The coffin was grey._

_The tears weren't grey though. They were red._

_Red like roses. Red like blood. Red like anger._

_It wasn't __fair__._

--

_On Monday the weather was hot and dry, like a desert. The sun beat a steady rhythm of heat onto the ground. Waves of rising air made the buildings sway to the beat. The world was nothing but a giant dance, ever moving._

Dum dum. Dum dum.

_Move. Sway_

Dum dum. Dum dum_._

_Sway. Move_

_When Sarah went to school her pain went with her, draped over one shoulder like a length of rope. Its heavy weight was a burden, ready to constrict her again at any moment. It caused her steps take far more effort than they should have._

_When she finally arrived in class, shoulders drooped under the weight of the pain; she fully expected to be left alone._

_Unfortunately, as her Granny used to say, "Expecting something to occur only makes it less likely to happen."_

"_Now, class", said her teacher, Mr Resmond, "Just a note before we begin. We should all try to be just a little bit nicer to Sarah today; she lost someone very important to her over the weekend. Anyway, I had a look at your spelling yesterday and…"_

_Sarah could have hit him for that; it was bad enough that some of the teachers knew. Now the entire school would know about Poor Little Sarah by lunch time. _

_But she didn't. Mama had told her that she should act like a Proper Lady, and Proper Ladies didn't do things like that. Or, at least, she didn't think they did._

_Mr Resmond began droning on about spelling and proper grammar (PRO-per GRA-mer) but Sarah wasn't listening. Her pain was making its move. It wasn't tightening around her like before, but rather slithering all around her body, whispering torments in her ear. _

_It spoke to her softly of a smell like softweet velvet._

"_Sarah! I understand that you must be going through a lot at the moment, but please pay attention to me when I am speaking! Otherwise you might as well not be here."_

_Sarah looked up. The entire class was looking at her and Tom was trying to smother his laughter. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and annoyance. How dare he do something like that! Mr Resmond knew full well what she was going through and still he badgered her if she so much as twitched an eyelid. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone?_

_Seeing that she was finally paying attention Mr Resmond returned to his lesson. Sarah spent the rest of class fuming, her pain momentarily forgotten. That obnoxious little __twit__. _

_Finally, the bell signalling the end of the morning classes rang out and everyone broke up for recess. Sarah decided to take her food into the thick bush that made up the entire north section of the school grounds so that she could be alone. She found her favourite spot, a collection of rocks at the base of a tall old tree and sat down._

_She wasn't alone for very long. Soon, she heard a rustling and a small boy appeared from the bushes._

_Tom. The bully had been bothering Sarah for as long as she could remember. Lately she'd been trying a new tactic Mama had suggested to her. Every time he said something nasty she completely ignored him, as if he didn't exist. So far it had worked. It didn't look like it would anymore, though._

"_Oh! Its Poor Little Sarah, All alone! Well, actually that's pretty normal. Don't have many friends, do you, freckle face?"_

_Sarah's pain raised its head and hissed threateningly. She curled her fists into balls and stared at the rocks. _

_Noonethere. Noonethere. Noonethere._

"_Awww, is Sarah missing her Granny? Don't know why you care so much about the old fart; all she ever did was look after her stinking roses."_

_Roses and memories. Memories and roses._

_Sarah lost control. Her pain was reared up and hissing, ready to strike the boy. Her hand closed over one of the rocks she was sitting on._

_She rose. She grinned. She threw._

_The rock hit with a dull sickening thud. Tom fell backwards onto the ground, his gloating expression unchanged. Locked in place._

_Forever._

--

Sarah woke up with a start.

The dormitory was dark, and peaceful. Most of the other girls were still asleep, and she could hear one of them snoring, rather like a bulldozer. She ignored the noise and took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

She hadn't thought about _that _for a long time.

After a few minutes her racing heart beat began to slow and she settled. She sat on her bed in the dark thinking about her dream. Her memory.

Eventually she decided to go back to sleep.

As she drifted off, one phrase echoed inside her head relentlessly, over and over. As she crossed the border between Life and Dreaming, she even whispered it to herself. Softly, sweetly.

_A-tishoo! A-tishoo!__  
__We all fall down__._

* * *

Well, look at that. I can do Drama too.

Sarah is 7 years old in the memory. It should be obvious, what with the Mother Goose rhymes.


End file.
